Скачать или смотреть What if Ned Stark Was Allowed to Take The Black - Full Movie

What if Ned Stark Was Allowed to Take The Black - Full Movie

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Voice Acting & Narration: Steven Waters @bobablackfly602


What if Ned Stark Was Allowed to Take The Black? Let’s explore the depths of it in the video.

If this video gets 3,000 likes, we’ll post part 2.

The world shrinks to steel. Ser Ilyn Payne raises Ice, Lord Stark’s own blade, both hands straining to lift its ancient weight. The sunlight crashes against the steel, dazzling. The crowd surges like a beast with a thousand lungs. Screams, jeers, sobs all tangled in one endless roar.
Ned feels the sound more than he hears it, a vibration in his ribs. He closes his eyes, murmurs a prayer he half-remembers. He thinks of Winterfell, of snow in the godswood, of his children. Arya, gods, where is Arya?
Sansa’s shrill cry carries through the yard
Sansa: “Mercy! Please, Your Grace! Mercy!”
The crowd bellows like thunder. A thousand voices drown the Sept. The swing begins.
And then…
Yoren: “STOP!”
The shout isn’t a plea, more like a command, ripped raw from lungs hardened by cold wind and black oath. It blasts through the noise, startling even the ravens perched on the Sept’s ledges. Heads snap toward the voice. The ragged crow has shouldered his way onto the steps, cloak flapping, eyes burning like coals. His voice rips again, louder, harsher:
Yoren: “LORD STARK IS PROMISED TO THE WALL!”
The sword halts, just short of falling. Even Payne’s dead eyes flicker toward the shout.
Joffrey(shrieking): “WHAT?”
The boy king is affronted that anyone would speak over him. Yoren plants himself on the stair, chest heaving, and bellows again, every word echoing through the yard.
Yoren: YOUR GRACE! THE MAN WAS SENTENCED TO THE NIGHT’S WATCH! THE OATH IS MADE! TO BREAK IT IS TO SHAME THE CROWN!”
The crowd murmurs, confusion bleeding into the frenzy. Cersei rises halfway from her seat, face pale with fury. Littlefinger leans in, lips twitching at the drama. Varys tilts his head, listening with a spider’s patience. Ned blinks, stunned, heart kicking against his ribs. Arya, buried in the throng, feels the words like a knife cutting the noose from her neck.
But Joffrey hesitates. The boy king thrives on the eyes of the mob. He tastes the air, the shifting mood. The Watch’s name has weight even here, even among the stink of smallfolk.
Pycelle totters forward, stroking his beard.


Pycelle(mumbling): “It is true, Your Grace… Lord Stark was to take the black. It is… recorded.”
The noise of the crowd surges again, but different now: questions, uncertainty, a low wave of approval at the word mercy.
Yoren seizes the moment, roaring again, pointing a black-nailed finger straight at Joffrey
Yoren: “SHOW YOUR PEOPLE A KING WHO KEEPS HIS WORD! SPARE HIM! SEND HIM TO THE WALL!”
Joffrey’s jaw works furiously. He wants blood, and he wants it bad, but the sound of the crowd stirs him. Mercy can be another crown to wear. He puffs out his chest, fists tightening as he looks upon the crowd.
Joffrey(bellowing): “I AM MERCIFUL!” Lord Stark will take the black! He shall live, for now. If he leaves the Wall, he dies.”
The crowd erupts in a way that resembles relief, ragged and confused. Ned’s chest caves with a shuddering breath. Ice clatters back down to Ser Ilyn’s side, denied its feast. Sansa sobs in gratitude, sinking at the queen’s feet. Arya squeezes between bodies, too shaken to breathe, eyes locked on her father.
Ned Stark lifts his head. He meets Joffrey’s eyes, then Yoren’s. Yoren only scowls, shoulders rolling as if the noise weighs on him. He fades back into the throng, but not before tossing Arya a look sharp enough to pin her to the ground. She goes still. The procession moves. Chains drag Ned to his feet. The chains bite into Ned’s wrists as he’s shoved into the prison cart. The roar of the crowd follows him like a storm cloud.
Guard: “Move, traitor.”
Ned doesn’t answer. He lifts his eyes once, scanning the mass of faces. Somewhere in that crush, Arya is watching. He can feel her. The gates of King’s Landing creak open. The cart lurches forward. The city’s noise begins to fade into the clatter of wheels on stone.
A shadow sidles close, Yoren. He walks alongside, cloak wrapped tight, eyes darting everywhere.
Yoren: “You breathe because the boy wanted to look kingly. Don’t thank me.”
Ned (hoarse): “I’ll thank you anyway.”
The cart rattles through the Fishmarket, past the stink of river and tar. The Black Brothers ride with the column, their presence making the gold cloaks sneer but obey.


#gameofthrones #gameofthroneswhatif #whatif